Fantasy Heroes
by doesitweighmorethanaduck
Summary: In kingdoms all across the land, individuals suddenly master magics which they have never before practiced. A wagon-driving alchemist carries a mysterious passenger, a bard's song foretells the destruction of his kingdom, and a young girl's run-in with a pack of gerblins leads to an unexpected development. Basically the Heroes pilot set in a fantasy world.


The roads of New York were flat and wide, stretching across the vast landscape into the surrounding forests. Wagons came and went at the regular, with their drivers receiving far less payment than those who offered transportation through more treacherous paths. However, adventuring wasn't the heart of New York's economy like it was for most kingdoms. Rather, the lifestyle most likely to make a person wealthy in New York was either being born into a noble family or crafting some sort of merchandise which could then be sold to the more adventurous types. There was quite a high market for bards as well, with many expanding their craft from song to stage acting or even painting.

The drow alchemist Mohinder was none of these things, but that didn't really matter, since he hadn't some to New York in hopes of earning gold. He had come to follow up on his father's research. As a non-magic-user without any weapons or stealth proficiency, steering wagons was about the only job Mohinder could find. He wasn't cut out to be an adventurer like some; he studied magic, like his father before him, but from a distance. Of course, that didn't mean he believed all his father's theories—far from it.

Mohinder's father had been killed a few days ago by a powerful spellof unknown origin, leaving behind a list of individuals with powers unusual for their class to possess. It was all nonsense, of course—probably nothing beyond a bit of multiclassing. Still, wanting to investigate, Mohinder had left his home in the Underdark and travelled to the kingdom of New York. Until he found the answers he was looking for, he'd remain as a wagon driver, offering passage to weary travelers.

On the side of the road on this particular evening stood a man in a merchant's garb. Mohinder had just finished dropping off a dwarven family to the cave where they resided, and they'd talked the entire time, so now he just wanted to get this next job over as quickly as possible. The merchant raised his hand in a hailing signal; Mohinder pulled his horses' reigns and drew the wagon to a halt. Now that he was up closer, he could see that the man's horn-rimmed glasses had lenses made from Gems of True-Seeing. Mohinder shivered; it wasn't that he had anything to hide, but the thought that his passenger could see right through an illusion spell that would have completely fooled him was rather unsettling.

"I'd like to head east," the man with the True-Seeing glasses said as he climbed aboard the wagon. "As far as you're willing to take me."

Something else about this man was unsettling besides his glasses, Mohinder realized as he felt the passenger's gaze burn into the back of his neck. He carried with him a sack marked with the word "godsend" written in Thieves' Cant. Why would a simple human merchant know that language? Mohinder could only read Thieves' Cant because it was one of the many languages he had studied in his youth, but although this man had a distinguished air about him, he had neither the garb nor the eloquent speech of someone with such a high education. And more importantly, what was _in_ the bag?

"Excuse me," Mohinder asked tentatively, putting some slack in the reigns to slow the horses down, "would you mind showing me your wares?"

The man in the True-Seeing glasses blinked in surprise, but his composure didn't waver for more than a second. "Of course," he said, drawing open the strings on his bag and holding it out in front of him.

Bringing the horses to a halt, Mohinder turned around in his seat to take a look, trying to swallow down his apprehension. Once he saw the contents, his shoulders drooped in relief; clearly there had been nothing to worry about. The man's bag was filled with various magic items and trinkets, most of which were brandished with the same Thieves' Cant "godsend" as the sack they were in. Apart from one or two things that might have been weapons, there was absolutely nothing to cause any alarm. A merchant like him probably couldn't use any of these items anyway.

They continued on their way until sunset. Mohinder wasn't quite sure just how far his passenger intended to go, and he was about to ask when they reached a point where a fallen tree blocked the path. "I'm sorry," said Mohinder. "I can't take you any further."

"That's fine." The man with the True-Seeing glasses smiled cordially as he stepped out the wagon. "Thank you for the ride."

For generations, the kingdom of New York had been ruled by the elven Petrelli clan. However, this had changed when the high elf mage Angela Petrelli had taken a human husband, Arthur. As human lifespans were so much shorter than elven ones, Angela had long outlived Arthur, as did their two half-elf sons. In the time following Arthur's death, Angela had been emotionally compromised, and outside forces had stepped in and seized power. These usurpers had gained a surprising amount of popularity at first, so New York was currently still under their rule, but said popularity was quickly dwindling. Now, in one month's time, Nathan was planning to overthrow the temporary government and give his bloodline power once again.

That was Nathan's plan, though, not Peter's. The younger Petrelli brother was content with his life as a cleric. Sure, he wasn't very good at actually saving people, but he knew what he was doing made his god happy as long as his magic worked. Nathan had a lot more spells that could do a lot more interesting things than Peter had in his inventory, but he didn't feel the need to learn any spells besides the ones he had—at least, not up until a few days ago. A mission like this one may not have been the best time to bring it up, though…

Angela usually selected missions for Nathan to go on that would paint him in the best light to those whose alliance they would be counting on when the time came for him to seize power again. Although Nathan wasn't a poor wizard by any means, it was preposterous to send anyone on a mission alone, let alone such a key figure, so Peter usually tagged along as support. His healing spells definitely came in handy on dangerous quests, and besides, it was always nice to spend a bit of time with his often-busy brother.

Unfortunately for Peter, who hated not to feel useful, the quest they were currently on was not remotely dangerous unless the adventurer attempting it was a beginner. Anyone equipped with some basic survival training could traverse a mountain range and return a stolen artifact to its rightful owner. Maybe it was the utter lack of need for a cleric on this mission, or maybe the item they were transporting had enchanted him, or maybe it was something deeper that Peter couldn't begin to understand, but while on that quest he suddenly started wanting to multiclass. No, more specific than that—he wanted to fly. Luckily for him, there was a spell that would let him do that, or at least something very similar.

"Nate, I want to multiclass as a wizard," Peter told his brother one night as they huddled around a fire. "Can you teach me some spells?"

Nathan didn't take his eyes off the underbrush that the kobolds they'd had a run-in with earlier had escaped into. "What's wrong with the spells you've got?"

"I don't know." Peter shrugged, poking the fire with a stick. The fire was dwindling down, and unless they wanted to be stranded in the dark, he might soon have to use another Sacred Flame to keep it alive. "I'd kind of like to be able to Featherfall."

"Why?" Nathan asked. "Planning on jumping off a cliff soon?"

His brother was joking, but Peter had been dreaming about that exact thing lately. He didn't want to bring it up, though, not when Nathan already thought he was crazy for going on missions armed only with a rusty knife and a dog-eared bible. It would especially be a bad idea considering their current mission involved a trek through a mountain range, where there was no shortage of cliffs for Peter to hypothetically hurl himself off.

Peter must have been taking too long to respond, because Nathan laughed and patted him on the back. "I see how it is," he said. "You want to impress Simone with some wizardly magics, don't you?"

That wasn't entirely true, but it wasn't entirely untrue either. Peter blushed at the mention of Simone, a fellow cleric who had been working with Peter to keep her elderly father's magic as strong as it had been in its youth by casting support spells on him. Charles Deveaux wasn't likely to be exploring any more dungeons at his point in life, but a sorcerer took pride in their magic abilities, and Peter and Simone wanted to keep that magic powerful for as long as possible. Recently, Peter had been harbouring a bit of a crush on Simone, but it was hard not to admire someone with such mastery of their craft.

"Come on, Nate, you know I would never fall for a woman whose interest in me depends on my range of spells," said Peter. "Besides," he added with a pang of wistfulness, "she loves the bard Isaac."

"Well, we'll see what we can do about teaching you Featherfall," Nathan said, shifting his weight slightly. "For now, let's just try to keep the fire—and ourselves—alive here. We've still got a long night ahead of us."

Claire's father had warned her about liches. They were supposed to be dangerous creatures lacking in any sort of humanity. She'd thought his warnings were unneeded, as were all his other warnings, of which he gave far too many. True, as a Halfling, Claire wasn't exactly biologically predisposed for combat, but she was training in the art of cheerleading, which greatly improved her agility and taught her a couple of support spells. In any case, Claire wasn't even an adventurer (yet); when was she going to have a run in with any liches?

Well, as it turned out, she wasn't. She was going to become one herself.

The gerblins attacked her and Zach on their way home from school. Claire had suggested they cut through a mountain path on their way home, partly in hopes of finding some sort of treasure and partly as an act of rebellion against her father, who forbade her from doing any adventuring at all. However, in no small part due to Noah's said ban on adventuring, Claire was totally inexperienced, and she and Zach had gotten pretty thoroughly lost. All the twisting tunnels in the cave looked exactly the same, and all they had to go on for light was a small torch. That was when the gerblins had started showing up. At first it had only been a few gerblins—easy enough to fight off. But then they'd just kept coming.

Zach had drawn his bow and arrow and picked a few off that way, but it was a ranged weapon, and the gerblins were advancing too fast for his shots to be very effective. Claire wasn't supposed to have any weapons, but she did have a dagger in her back pocket—don't tell her parents. She drew it and moved to stab a gerblin as it leapt at her. The dagger pierced the gerblin's chest, and it convulsed before dropping dead.

"Take that!" Claire cried as she yanked her blade out and slashed at it with another gerblin. Just then, though, she felt tiny but sharp claws dig into her back. "Gah!" she shrieked, twisting around in a fruitless attempt to throw it off her.

Next to her, she heard Zach cry out in panic. She spun around to see him hacking away at five of six gerblins, all of which were clawing their way up him at once. The one on her back bit down on her shoulder and she bit her tongue to keep from yelling out from the pain that shot through her. Too much loud noise would just attract even more of these damn things. The pain subsided quicker than it seemed like it should have, but Claire chalked it up to adrenaline as she grabbed the gerblin off her back and threw it as far away from her as she could.

By that point there were already several more gerblins advancing on her. Where were they all coming from?! Claire's stomach knotted as she watched more and more of the tiny creatures scrabble out of the dark toward them, and she realized they must have stumbled into a colony of them. Panic overwhelmed her for a moment and she froze up, clutching her dagger with white knuckles.

"Claire!" Zach's voice jerked her back to reality; he had shaken the gerblins off him and was standing up, notching another arrow. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Claire replied—and unbelievably, she actually meant it. She wasn't a magic-user, and neither was Zach, so it wasn't like any healing spells had been involved. She figured the pain would resume once the adrenaline rush was over. For now, though, they had to get out of the gerblin nest. "Come on," she said, grabbing Zach by the wrist and trying not to look at the ribbons of blood running down his legs and arms beneath his tattered clothes. "Let's get out of here."

Glancing around the dimly lit passage they were in, Claire could see a faint light coming from a crack in the cave wall a few metres up ahead of them. That was their way out. All they had to do was get to it. Pulling her friend along behind her, Claire bolted for the exit, heart hammering as she heard the scrabble of claws on the rocky surface behind her. Zach overtook her quickly, squeezing through the crack just a few seconds before Claire reached it. It was wider than it had looked from a distance, which was a relief; Claire had been worried her human friend wouldn't be able to fit through it as easily as her. However, just as she was about to duck down and slip through the gap in the cave walls, one of the bigger gerblins caught up to her and bit her on the ankle. She screamed, toppling forward and crashing to the ground, dagger clattering out of her hand to just a centimeter out of her reach.

"Oh, come on," Claire muttered as she tried to pick herself up off the ground—a task made quite challenging by the gerblin sitting on her back. While it had her pinned down, another gerblin ran up and sniffed at her dagger. "Hey!" Claire snapped, suddenly a lot more scared than she'd just been, "Leave that right where it is!"

The gerblin, of course, did not comply. Picking up her dagger in its grimy little hands, it chittered mockingly at her before running over to her and holding the dagger above her head. Just as it brought the jagged-edged blade down on her, an instant before it would have pierced her skull, blinding pain shot through her. For a second Claire thought the gerblin actually had struck, but that was impossible—she'd be dead if that were the case. Instead, something strange happened.

A renewed power surged through Claire, and when she shrugged her shoulders to throw the larger gerblin off her, it went tumbling off with ease. A moment later she was on top of the attacking gerblin and wrestling it to the ground. It jabbed at her again, but the dagger didn't even come close to connecting. Beady eyes widening with fear, the gerblin turned tail and tried to run away. _Not today,_ Claire thought as she grabbed the little dagger thief by the leg and tried to pry her weapon out of its grip. The gerblin kicked her in the face, stunning her for a moment while its companion lunged for her dagger. The two gerblins fought for a moment, giving Claire the chance to grab her schoolbag, get up, and run away. She didn't want to leave her only weapon in the clutches of those horrible little fiends, but what choice did she have? They were small, but they had her seriously outnumbered. Besides, Zach would have noticed by now she'd fallen behind, and he'd be bound to worry if she took any longer.

Claire was so concerned with getting herself out there that she didn't realize what else she was leaving lying in that , she was met with blinding light in comparison to the darkness of the cave. Squinting as her eyes adjusted, Claire took a few deep breaths and tried to shake off the feeling that something was off. Why didn't she feel tired after getting into what had arguably been the scariest fight of her life? Why did she feel like she was a little taller than usual, and why couldn't she feel her feet when she walked? For that matter, why couldn't she feel much of _anything_?

Zach was sitting cross-legged a few metres away, panting and rifling through his schoolbag for a potion. "Hey," Claire said as she approached him. "Good job back there. You totally kicked those gerblins' asses."

"Thanks, you did pretty—" Zach began, glancing up from his bag. He broke off as soon as he laid eyes on Claire. Eyes widening in horror, he whispered, "Uh, Claire?"

"What is it?"

"Y-you…" He gulped, looking Claire up and down and pointing at her with a trembling finger. "You're a skeleton."

Claire's brow furrowed in confusion. What was he talking about? Then she looked down at herself and saw what he meant. Her corporeal body was gone. In its place was a floating figure, skeletal in appearance, cloaked in a wispy, robe-like version of her cheerleader uniform. Looking at her hands, she could see the transparent outline of skin covering them, but the bones beneath were plain to see, and the "skin" wavered and disappeared when she moved them around.

"Oh my God," Claire said, realizing as she spoke that her voice was deeper and raspier than normal. "I'm a lich."

The kingdoms of New York and Tokyo were separated by a vast sea that only the bravest dared cross, but thirst for adventure lay in the hearts of beings all across the land. And none were more enthralled at the prospect of grand quests and glorious battles than a little gnome by the name of Hiro Nakamura.

Hiro was somewhat of a social outcast, both among other gnomes and among other adventurers. He held little interest in the illusion magics that many of his kind specialized in, rather choosing to be a protection fighter. Gnome fighters in general were somewhat of a rarity, which made Hiro an unpopular choice for adventuring parties. He liked being a protection fighter, though—he wanted to keep the people he loved safe. As it happened, one of his favourite people in the world, the tiefling wizard Ando who'd been his best friend since childhood, was one of the only people who ever agreed to go on quests with Hiro.

It had been a while since Hiro and Ando's last mission, and that had just been a simple fetch quest, so Hiro was getting restless. As compensation for that mission, they'd received an old timepiece, which Hiro now kept on a chain around his neck. Now, the ticking of that timepiece was starting to drive him insane with its reminder of time passing him by.

Swinging his feet absentmindedly as he sat on a barstool that placed his feet even higher off the ground than most seats did, Hiro fiddled with the chain around his neck and wished he could make the ticking stop. There was probably a spell out there that could slow it down, but as a non-magic-user, Hiro wouldn't be able to cast it. What he needed was to get out there and fight some monsters—and more importantly, save some people. Luckily for him, a tavern like the one he was in was the perfect place to find a job.

People could pay a small fee to post a "help wanted" sign on the wall behind the counter, and as such, the wall was always covered in requests so that no traveler who frequented the tavern would be without a mission for long. Leaning forward on the barstool so he could see over the bartender's head, Hiro scanned the posters for something fun and exciting.

 _Weapons needing enchantment… Looking to adopt a familiar… Scroll to be delivered… Have you seen this elf?... Necromancers wanted…_ Hiro shook his head as he read over the signs. They were either too small tasks or things outside of his skill set. Then, printed in bright gold letters on a freshly hung piece of parchment, he saw it: _Adventurers wanted for dragon-slaying quest; no prior experience necessary. Reward: 1,500 gold pieces._

Ears perking up in excitement, Hiro reached over to tug at his companion's sleeve. "Ando! Take a look at this," he said, gesturing at the poster. "We'll get to kill a dragon!"

"Eh?" Glancing down from the dartboard he'd been engrossed with for the past half hour, Ando followed Hiro's gaze to the "help wanted" poster in question. "Hiro, what are you talking about? We're not equipped to do that!"

"They say there's no experience necessary," Hiro pointed out. "And look at that reward! That's ten times more than we've earned in the past month."

 _Plus, it'll be fun and will protect a lot of people_ , he thought—that was his main reason for wanting to go on the quest—but he knew the kinds of things that motivated his friend. Ando was a good man, but he didn't have the same passion for adventure that Hiro did.

"I don't know, Hiro…" Ando sighed, rolling a dart back and forth under his fingers. "Dragons are dangerous, and we're… well, just look at us."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Hiro challenged, flattening his ears against his head. "You've got spells, and I've got my sword and shield!"

"Hiro, your sword is as tall as you are!"

"So what?"

"So you're a _gnome_!" Twining his tail around the legs of his barstool, Ando sighed again and slumped a little. "A dragon could probably eat you and barely even notice."

That may well have been true, but Hiro didn't see why it made him unqualified to fight one. All great adventurers put their lives on the line to do what was right; just take Hiro's idol, the legendary sorcerer Takezo Kensei. Kensei had slain hundreds of dragons, as well as ogres and goblins and all sorts of monsters. To top it off, most of the time Kensei had done solo missions, going without any sort of party to back him up. If other adventurers could perform such brave acts, Hiro shouldn't have been an exception—and he wouldn't be, he decided, trying to sit up a little straighter and taller.

He _was_ going to fight that dragon, whether Ando came with him or not, and he was going to win.

Life was hard for those who were out on the road alone from a young age, and many a young adventurer had left their home never to return. This was the worst fate most parents could think of for their children, and although in many parts of the world there was a minimum age one had to be to join a legally sanctioned adventuring party, the town where the Sanders family resided was not one of those places. As an underprivileged youth who performed well in school, there was a lot of expectation for the half-orc mage apprentice Micah to join one of the three or four local parties, and the worst part was that he seemed quite eager to fulfill these expectations.

Needless to say, this was positively terrifying for Niki. She had been an adventurer herself not long ago, and she still met back with her old party every once in a while—or at least those who remained—to go on some low-stakes quest for old times' sake, so she knew firsthand how dangerous a lifestyle it was. However, she wasn't one to keep her child from pursuing his ambitions by any means. Under any other circumstances, she'd have been thrilled if Micah had wanted to be an adventurer. Right now, though, he wasn't experienced or equipped well enough to undergo such a thing… which she was currently trying to explain to his mentor for what felt like the hundredth time.

"Miss Sanders, I have observed your son's magic abilities firsthand," the elderly monk told her, keeping his hands folded neatly in his lap as he spoke. "He would be well-suited to join my party of young adventurers. They're looking for another spellcaster to round out their party."

"What's wrong with the spellcaster they've got?" Niki asked.

"He… uses magic recklessly," the monk said. "When on a quest, he rarely has any spell slots left by the time the party reaches their destination. But your Micah… he knows how to pick and choose spells with care."

Despite not being swayed by the monk's arguments, Niki's chest swelled with pride at his complimenting her son. "I'm certain Micah would appreciate you saying that," she said. "However, using magic selectively does not mean he has yet mastered his craft. In two or three years' time, if you wish to raise this matter again, I may well consider it, but at present he is not ready."

"Oh, be not so closed-minded, Miss Sanders." The monk smiled, his pointed teeth glinting in the dim sunlight that filtered through the blinds in the schoolhouse's windows. "I know the true reason for your reluctance, but let me assure you, a few missions' compensation should earn you both enough money to afford equipment."

"With all due respect, Sir, that's hardly the issue here," Niki objected, voice slipping into a growl. The monk gave her a self-satisfied smirk as though to say, _I knew an orc like you would resort to threatening me_. Scowling, Niki cleared her throat and shifted her weight to try to make herself seem less brutish. "If it will take Micah going on a few missions to earn the money needed to buy the necessary equipment, how is he supposed to complete those first few missions without the equipment in the first place?"

The monk drummed his fingers on his lap, his slender fingers tapping out a rhythmic pattern. "Perhaps you should look into obtaining this money on your own terms," he said. "In the meantime, I would at least recommend we move Micah to a higher level. Surely you've noticed how bored he's becoming with the same old lessons."

Now this proposition was one Niki was more than willing to accept—if only moving up a level at this magic school didn't also require a steep fee. She had been getting complaints from the other students and their families that Micah's spells were getting too powerful, and he was actually hurting his classmates without meaning to. Some were starting to say that it was his orc blood taking over and driving him to violence, while others blamed the influence of his human father, DL, who had recently been accused of murder and sentenced to exile.

DL was a ranger who was skilled in combat, so he certainly possessed the means to kill if and when he wanted, and all evidence pointed toward him being responsible. Niki had found it hard to accept at first that her lawfully-aligned husband would have done such a thing, but while Micah still refused to believe that his father was responsible, she believed more with each day that the militia must have been right. Now, with her husband gone, Niki had to work twice as hard to keep a steady income.

It was a paradox situation: adventuring would be a quick way to get them the money they needed to buy the items needed for adventuring. It was why Niki didn't go on quests the way she used to—that and the militia had confiscated her lance and warhammer along with DL's battleaxe when they arrested him.

The elderly man sitting before her now in this cramped conference room was aware of all of this, and his knowing smile didn't try to hide it. Grinding her fangs together and clenching her fists, Niki fought back the urge to growl again. Deep down, she already knew what she had to having her weapons would make it harder, but adventuring to earn money really was the only option.

Despite the role she'd been filling on the few quests she had gone on since starting a family, Niki had not been a fighter in her youth—she'd been a rogue. Back then, it'd been just her and her sister, trying to survive on the road however they could… it reminded her of a now-famous story about a pair of elf wizards with similar experiences, but in their case, things hadn't turned out so well. After meeting DL, Niki had decided to give up being a rogue and take up some fighting skills, but she had far more levels as a rogue which she was prepared to use if necessary. She really didn't want to, but it would be the best way for herself and for her family.

Outside, Micah was leaning up against the wall of the schoolhouse and practicing one of his cantrips. "Hey, Mom," he said, glancing up as Niki walked outside. "How'd it go?"

"It went fine, honey." Biting her lip as she took her son's hand and walked him toward the ratty old caravan they used to get from place to place, Niki wondered if she even remembered how to pick a lock. "Say, Micah, would you mind if I started going on quests with adventuring parties?" she asked after a moment. "I can leave you with some of your human relatives while I'm gone, which will probably only be for a couple weeks at a time anyway. What do you think?"

"Do you have to?" Micah asked in a tone that left no doubt that he already knew she did. "I've already mastered a couple of first-level spells! Can't I come with you?"

Regret swelled in Niki's chest as she spoke. "Maybe someday, sweetie," she told him. "But for now, I'll have to take matters into my own hands."

Four nights into their trip through the mountains, at the end of a particular leg of their journey which had been incredibly stressful on both of them, Peter and Nathan stumbled across a cave that appeared to be empty. Exhausted after a long day of travelling, the brothers set up a campfire and rolled out their sleeping bags without stopping to check if it was occupied. In retrospect, this had been a huge mistake.

After another restless night full of dreams of flying, Peter woke up in the morning to the sensation of hot breath on his cheek. "Nn…" Scrunching his face up, Peter rolled over, too tired to get up yet. Then he heard the beginnings of a low growl right next to his ear, and a drop of saliva splattered on his cheek.

Instantly awake,he sat up, wiping the saliva off his face. He was met with the sight of a massive, angry-looking Bugbear staring him down, its snout just a few centimeters away from his face. Peter may not have been the brightest, but it didn't take a genius to figure out that he and his brother had just spent the night in its den.

"What are you doing here?" asked the Bugbear, deep voice rumbling in its throat. "Get out!"

Cursing under his breath, Peter slowly inched backward, doing his best not to alarm the creature towering over him. The spell Charm Monster sprang to mind, but he didn't know that one—but Nathan did. A glance over his shoulder revealed that his brother was still asleep, which was quite the rarity. Nathan was almost always up and about well before Peter—in fact, Nathan was more often than not the one to wake Peter up, usually after already having hunted or foraged for breakfast and made a fire. It figured that the one time that the eldest brother slept later was when he was at a time like this.

" _Well?!_ " The Bugbear sniffed and pawed at the ground, kicking up some of the dust that coated the floor of the cave. Outside the cave, there were a few metres of scraggy grass before a sharp drop-off that went several miles down to around the base of the mountain. Past the cliff, the beginnings of sunlight were beginning to show in the pale gray sky. For a second, Peter thought he saw someone move near the entrance to the cave, but he must've been imagining it—he and Nathan were both right there, and there wouldn't have been anybody else in such a secluded area.

"W-we didn't mean to intrude," Peter said as slowly and calmly as he could, holding up a hand to show that he was unarmed, although his other hand was already on his bible. "We're probably just going to be leaving in a minute, okay?"

With spell slots and health fully recharged, he was fully prepared to take this creature on if need be, but he really wanted to avoid that if possible. After all, it was only doing what any creature would—scoping out the strangers who'd intruded into its home without permission.

After sniffing at Peter for a moment longer, the Bugbear's fur lay flat and it backed off, giving him a last warning growl. Peter immediately went slack with relief. Then, just as it was about to lumber off deeper into the cave, the cave entrance lit up with a brilliant blaze of flame that struck the Bugbear on its flank. As the beast roared in pain, the sleeping figure of Nathan next to Peter shimmered and vanished—an illusion. Peter's cheeks burned at not being able to recognize the work of his brother's illusion magic, especially seeing as it wasn't even Nathan's specialty (he specialized in enchantment). More importantly, though, now the Bugbear which had previously calmed down was a lot angrier than it had been in the first place.

"Who did that?!" As the real Nathan stepped into few at the cave entrance, wand outstretched and smoking at the tip, the Bugbear wheeled around and roared at him, its pelt bristling. " _You_!"

Scrambling to his feet, Peter opened up his bible and flipped through it to find a suitable spell. He'd have to complain about Nathan's unnecessary violence later. Right now, his brother was a few moments away from being decimated by the Bugbear, which was now preparing to charge.

"Hey, over here!" Peter shouted, flinging a Sacred Flame at the Bugbear. The cantrip only phased it for a second, but Peter took the opportunity to grab some of their travel gear and run around to join his brother at the mouth of the cave.

Quickly firing off another Firebolt, Nathan took some of the gear and started to back away from the cave. "Nice going in there," he said to Peter; he was too out-of-breath for Peter to tell if he was being sarcastic or not.

"You didn't have to attack that thing," Peter pointed out as they ran along the winding path up the mountainside. The Bugbear's roars were still audible not too far behind them. "I had it under control."

"Pete, your animal handling skills are nonexistent," Nathan said. "That thing was going to take a swipe at you."

"It's not animal handling, Nate; it's humanoid…"

"Besides, how was I supposed to see what was going on in there? I was outside!"

The brothers' argument was brought to a halt when they came to a spot where the sloping path steepened into a sheer rock wall, not unlike the one below the cliff's edge. It was far too steep to climb, and the Bugbear was still closing on them from behind.

They were cornered.

There were plenty of bards in New York, many of them talented enough to make a living from their craft alone rather than by putting it to use on quests. The traditional bard specialized in music, although actors weren't uncommon either around these parts—in fact, they often performed better than traditional singer-songwriter bards. One of said traditional bards was Isaac, an unusually small goliath who tended to stay holed up in his den and compose his songs. His small stature for a member of his race (although he still towered over his human lover, Simone) had discouraged him from becoming a fighter, and he knew most types of spellcasting were too complicated for him to understand, so after coming to New York he had chosen to follow his artistic passion and become a bard. Unfortunately, things weren't going well for him so far.

Passerby on the street would only pay Isaac five or ten gold pieces at a time when he worked up the courage to perform in public, and keeping his instrument in tune cost money. More to the point, a Potion of Clairvoyance cost money—far more than Isaac had. Luckily for him, Simone lent him a good portion of her earnings so that he could stock up on the elixirs, but she thought he was using the money for parchment and ink to write down his music on. He was using some of it for just that, of course, but if Simone figured out where her gold pieces were really going, Isaac was sure she'd be unhappy. And she'd begun to get suspicious…

Most people wouldn't or didn't understand Isaac's need for Potions of Clairvoyance. He could compose decently without them, but he was still a low-level bard, and he often required aid in his creative flow. That was where the potions came in. Under their effect, Isaac could see what was happening in a certain location at that moment in time, and write a piece involving the things he saw. For instance, his most recent composition was inspired by a dragon attack and a tipped-over wagon that was up in flames. Unscrewing the cap on another potion, Isaac dipped his quill in ink and prepared to put lyrics to an instrumental sequence he'd come up with.

A few minutes after he took a sip, Isaac began to feel the potion's affect. Vision glazing over, he was met with visions that danced before his eyes, and he almost unconsciously started scribbling down lyrics in looping cursive font without even realizing what he was seeing or what he was writing about. It was all bright and vivid, as though it were happening right before him in his little cave on the outskirts of New York City. About halfway through writing his song, Isaac lost all grasp on what he was doing, blacking out for an amount of time that could have been anywhere from half a minute to half a day.

When Isaac came to, he was breathing heavily. Wiping sweat and ink form his brow, he sat back and looked over his composition. It was long enough to be a bona-fide epic.

Isaac tapped his Stone of Farspeech. "Hello, Simone?"

"Isaac! What is it?" Simone sounded happy to hear him, but there was a tired strain on her voice. There was good reason for it, too; with the half-elf Petrelli brothers out on a quest, Simone had to do double the work tending to her dying father. "It's been some time since you contacted me."

"I've composed another song," he said. Hoping his melodies could lift her spirits as they often did, he asked, "Would you care to hear it?"

"Certainly; I've got time enough."

"Wonderful!" Isaac's mandolin sat in the corner; he picked it up and strummed the chord progression to this newest piece. "Although I may warn you it's a trifle lengthy."

After strumming the introduction, he took a deep breath and sang the newly written lyrics, reading them over as he went. As he sang, he surprised himself with how somber his newest piece sounded.

 _"A city so prosperous, gleaming and grand/ Seems bound to remain a landmark of this land/ But in one months' time, by some dark force's command/ New York City no longer shall stand._

 _In one month's time, if no lesson's learned/ By the man who has leadership earned/ The new leader's back shall surely be turned/ As New York City to the ground is burned._

 _The man's flesh and blood shall plead and moan/ They cannot face this task alone/ But he's taken flight and his fancy has flown/ Yet New York City's future isn't written in stone._

 _There is a young girl who walks through fire/ The traitorous leader-to-be is her sire/ She must be saved as the stakes climb higher/ Or for New York City things shall soon be dire._

 _On this world there shall be left a dent/ Oh-point-seven-five percent/ Best hope their lives have been well spent/ While we wonder where New York City went."_

Pausing to catch his breath, Isaac transitioned into the bridge with a series of rhythmic strums.

 _"There is a woman whose soul's split in two/ There is a man who looks inside minds/ A woman who for the future thinks there's naught she can do/ A man who traverses through space and time._

 _There's a man who studies it all from a distance/ And there is a child, shaking and scared/ There's a man whose glasses hide dark secrets/ And there's a man who floats on the air._

 _Answers are coded into our hearts/ Play your role; now, play your part/ Hints of the future in works of art/ Or for New York City, the end shall soon start."_

As the last echoes of his mandolin reverberated through his cave, Isaac's skin prickled in anticipation of Simone's reaction; she'd kept silent as he played his song all the way through. After a few beats of stunned silence, she cleared her throat.

"Well." She spoke slowly, clearly choosing her words carefully. "It had a lovely cadence to it. I liked how the rhyme scheme changed for the bridge."

"…And what of the lyrics?"

Simone sighed, the noise carrying through over the Stone of Farspeech as a crackle. "Isaac, my love, I do wish you wouldn't paint such a grim picture of the future. Why would you sing about something so awful?"

It was a genuinely good question. He hadn't realized while writing it just how dark a tale the lyrics told. But he'd written it while under the effect of a Potion of Clairvoyance, and that meant…

Gods, was New York actually going to be destroyed?!

The inside of the dungeon was cold and nearly pitch-black. The only source of heat or light was the torch that Niki carried as she led the adventuring party through long, twisting corridors, hoping that she was even leading them in the right direction. Most of her teammates had a decent amount of armour on, but she was clad only in her casual garb; she'd sold her armour in exchange for the axe strapped to her back. The person who'd secured her position on this party had also given her the torch and a few metres of rope with expectations that she'd repay the nobleman he worked for within a month. With the reward her current job promised, Niki was sure she'd be able to manage that.

The job in question was a fairly simple one in theory: find an ancient mirror that was rumoured to be cursed, and destroy it. Their client hadn't given them too many details, but with a team consisting of a fighter, a druid, a ranger, a cleric, and a rogue, all led by a powerful sorcerer, they felt that they had all their bases covered. How hard could it be to break a mirror?

The dungeon floor began to gradually slope down as they progressed. The further they went, the steeper the decline grew until they came to a sudden ten-foot drop. They party slowed to a stop, exchanging concerned murmurs.

"That seems rather far," their ranger muttered, dangling her legs off the ledge and kicking them back and forth. "I don't know if I can make that jump…"

"It's okay," said Niki, stepping up. She didn't think the distance was that bad, but she was the tallest one there, so she could see why it would seem scarier to her companions, all of whom were either humans, elves, or dwarves. "I'll jump down and then catch the rest of you."

"Wonderful!" Their sorcerer clapped her on the back hard enough to send her stumbling off the edge; she caught herself on the wall of the cave and shot him a glare. "Sanders is finally going to put her tough hide to use, huh?"

"I guess so," Niki said through clenched teeth. "But I said _jump_ down, not be pushed."

"Sorry, sorry," he muttered, waving his hand dismissively. "Well, anyways, down you go."

Without hesitation, Niki hopped off the ledge and landed on the ground below with a bang, bending her knees to absorb the shock. Holding out the torch, she glanced around to see if the dungeon's architecture had changed at all. It hadn't, but there was an increasing amount of moisture on the walls. To her left, Niki noticed a wood plank that had been split in two; she guessed that a previous adventuring party had used it as a little ramp. After a moment's thought, she picked up one of the wood pieces, admiring its splintered ends. It looked like it would make a good weapon in a pinch.

"Okay," she called to her teammates. "You can come down now!"

"Me first," the ranger said, giving Niki a prodding kick on the shoulder. Niki grabbed her and hoisted her down, and then did the same for the rest of the party. Once everybody was on the lower level, they proceeded on their way.

A few minutes later, Niki noticed a faint but persistent ringing in her ears that grew stronger the further they went. She wondered if it because they were getting closer to the mirror—her teammates must have felt it too, then. For a while she was able to ignore it, but eventually it grew too painful and her head hurt too much for her to keep going. She stopped to lean against a wall, groaning and rubbing her temples.

"What's the matter with you?" their fighter asked, wrinkling his nose. "Don't stop now; we're getting closer!"

"I know," Niki groaned. "I can feel it." When met with confused glances, she tapped the side of her head. "A headache," she explained. "…What, am I the only one it's affecting?"

"I think you are…"

"Yeah, I feel fine, do you?"

"Me? I'm good."

While her teammates talked amongst themselves, Niki closed her eyes and slumped down, putting her head between her knees. It felt like her whole skull was vibrating. The ringing in her ears had increased in pitch and volume, and now it almost sounded like a…

A voice. Yes, she could hear it now in the back of her head, whispering to her in high, reedy tones. It was a woman's voice, and as it grew clearer, Niki realized it sounded startlingly similar to her own—for a moment Niki thought she'd spoken aloud without realizing, but none of her teammates reacted to it.

" _Niki…"_ the voice whispered, curling around her mind like the tendrils of a vine. _"Niki, kill them."_

"What?!" Now she had spoken aloud; her teammates topped to stare at her with questioning looks. "What?" she repeated, this time under her breath. "I'm not going to do that!"

" _But don't you want to, Niki? These people don't care about you. They're using you. Isn't it obvious?"_

To be completely honest, it was obvious. Nobody had really talked to Niki throughout the course of their mission apart from asking her to do something or other. She figured it was because they all knew each other and didn't know her, or maybe they were scared of orcs. Either way, she didn't like it much, but she was willing to put up with it for the payment.

" _Just kill them, Niki. You're strong enough and you know it."_

Niki dug her nails into her forehead, trying as hard as she could to block out the voice. In her peripheral, she could see the party's cleric talking with their sorcerer. She looked worried, and Niki thought to herself (or to the voice inside her head), _you see? They do care about my health, at least_.

" _Are you sure about that?"_ Suddenly the ringing dulled and Niki could hear her teammates' conversation.

"I don't think we should have taken the orc along," the cleric was saying. "I don't want to waste my spell slots trying to cure whatever's wrong with her."

"Maybe it would be best to leave her behind," the sorcerer mused. "She's strong, but we've already got a good fighter."

As her so-called teammates talked amongst themselves, Niki tried to brush aside a pang of anger at their callousness. She'd known these people didn't like her very much, but leaving her behind to potentially die? That was crossing a line. But if she let the voice in her head know she was angry, she'd be proving it right…

Suddenly, the party's fighter gestured toward a dull gleam from a few metres down the hallway. "Hey, guys, I think we found the mirror!"

"Is that so?" Suddenly the sorcerer's attention was completely diverted from Niki's ailment. He followed the fighter's gaze to the source of the gleam and nodded after a moment. "…Yes, I do detect some powerful magic energies coming from it. We should proceed with caution when destroying it."

Before he was even finished talking, though, the fighter's battleaxe had already connected with the rim of the mirror. What followed was the most splitting headache Niki had ever experienced, coming on in the span of half a second. Clutching her head, she doubled over and screamed in pain before blacking out.

The Bennet household was situated comfortably in a little village in the good-sized but largely empty kingdom of Texas. Nothing much ever seemed to change in those parts, and threats from supernatural entities were very rare. Nonhumans were feared by many (even a Halfling like Claire got the odd look now and then) and the undead were exorcised on the spot by those powerful enough to do so. Needless to say, these people would not take kindly to the presence of a lich.

"I don't understand this," Claire said as she floated alongside Zach on the winding path to her house. "I never became a lich! I don't have a phylactery or anything."

"It's good that you did, though," Zach pointed out. "It would have been horrible to lose you."

Claire supposed her friend had a point—it probably would have broken her parents' hearts if she'd died back there. Well, technically she _had_ died back there, she supposed… but her soul had survived. Did that count as dying, then? She supposed that having a dagger jabbed into her brain must have counted as death, even if she wasn't exactly dead.

Still, what was she supposed to do now?! She couldn't just come home as a lich. What would her family think? Her mother would have a conniption fit, her father would never let her outdoors again, and her brother Lyle would most likely be terrified of her—her lich form was rather frightening, after all. All the bones and tattered-looking clothes and the glowing red aura that surrounded her was unsettling to look upon even to herself. Zach must have been highly unnerved as well; he was pointedly not looking at Claire as he walked along.

Suddenly Zach stopped. "Hey, take a look at this," he said, beckoning Claire over. "I think you might have found a solution to your problem."

"Really?" Claire floated over to see what her friend was looking at—a ratty brown wizard hat with a tattered ribbon around the brim. She noticed that it was singed on the tip. Had the user been hit with a fire spell, or…?

"I think it's a Hat of Disguise," Zach said, nudging the hat with his foot.

"Are you sure?" Claire asked. "I mean, aren't those pretty rare?"

Wagons came and went at the regular down the road they walked along, and passengers often dropped items such as hats along the road. However, they were usually fairly common items, often not even magical. Most people took better care of Wondrous Items than that.

Even so, Claire picked up the hat and fluffed it out, grimacing at the thick coating of dust lining the inside. "I hope this works," she muttered as she put it on.

She was almost sure nothing would happen, but when she willed herself to look like she normally did, Zach muttered "whoa" and took a step back. Sure enough, when Claire looked down at herself now, she saw herself as she usually was—an ordinary adolescent Halfling who was in no way undead. Claire grinned and adjusted the hat, wriggling her toes to test how it would feel. The sensation of her toes rubbing against each other wasn't there, but to anyone looking on, it wouldn't have appeared any different from the next person.

"We'd better get home fast," Claire said, recalling the one-hour time limit on the spell Disguise Self. "I don't want it wearing off in front of anyone."

Zach nodded in agreement, and the two of them set off again. However, less than a minute after finding the hat, smoke started to curl up in the distance.

Picking up the pace, they hurried up ahead to see where the smoke was coming from. The source turned out to be a blazing fire which several spellcasters had already gathered around. The smell of sulphur hung in the air—must have been a dragon attack. In the midst of the flames was a long line of wagons that had tipped over, their contents spilling across the ground. Claire's stomach sank; that must have been where the hat had come from.

"Is everybody out?" a cleric was shouting a few feet back from the mass of flaming wagons as people milled around in a panic. "Who was driving the second wagon from the front?"

A cacophony of frantic voices sounded as a response, drowning out what could have been any vital information. The fire was too widespread for anyone to get close enough to see if anybody was still trapped inside one of the fallen wagons; it looked like the healers who'd gathered around the site already had their hands full with injured people.

Claire and Zach hung back for a moment, taking in the scene. Over the crackling of the fire and the conundrum of the surrounding onlookers, Claire could just make out a barely audible cry for help coming from inside one of the collapsed wagons. She tensed, wondering if she was imagining it…No, it was definitely real.

Pulling her Hat of Disguise down tighter over her head, Claire shrugged off her schoolbag and tossed it to Zach. "Hold this," she told him. Then she took off running toward the burning wagons.

"What are you—?" he began. Claire didn't hear the rest, because at that point she was too far away and the wind whipping in her ears drowned out her friend's voice.

Liches couldn't be hurt or killed by mortal means, and that included fire. That didn't mean she didn't feel its heat searing into her as she ran, pushing past the crowd into the inferno. It just meant she was the only one who could safely pull a stunt like this.

The second wagon in the line was one of the largest, and its canvas had mostly burned away, leaving jagged chunks of charred wood jutting up from within. It was also one of the few flipped completely over; it was propped up by a wheel that had fallen off and gotten lodged between the wagon and the ground. As she reached the toppled wagon, Claire felt her heart pounding in her chest even though she knew she didn't actually have one at the moment. It was like phantom adrenaline to go with the phantom pain that came from the fire. Wincing at the flames dancing around her arm, Claire covered her hat so it wouldn't burn up and ducked under the wheel. If her illusion dropped now, it would be bad news.

Slumped over in the corner of the wagon was a half-conscious human man. "Help me," he pleaded as Claire ran to his side.

"It's what I'm here to do," Claire replied.

The man groaned and passed out. Gritting her teeth, Claire stooped down and placed her hands on his shoulders, preparing to drag him out of the collapsed wagon. When she moved to pick him up, she surprised herself with how easy he was to move—she'd forgotten the extra strength she'd acquired with her new lichdom. _Well¸_ she decided, _I may as well take full advantage of it._ Slinging the man's arm around her shoulder and wrapping a hand around his waist, she hoisted him up, coiled the muscles she didn't really have, and sprang up into the air.

Claire burst through the roof of the wagon in a shower of wood splinters which dug into her only to fall harmlessly out as she rose above the wreckage. Fire swirled around her, blending into the bottom of her tattered red lich robe. To the people looking on below her, it must have been quite a curious sight—a Halfling girl leaping out of a flaming wagon carrying someone twice her size nearly effortlessly, without a single burn mark on her body.

Setting down on the grass out of the fire's reach, Claire laid the rescued man down next to the other injured. Being met with incredulous stares from all sides, she took a deep breath and pretended to wipe sweat off her brow. "Is there a cleric around?" she called. "I've got an injured man over here!"

"Er, of course!" A nervous-looking elf hurried over and knelt down beside the unconscious man. As magic sparked at her fingers, she glanced up at Claire, eyes wide with professional concern. "But don't you need to be healed as well?"

"Thanks, but I'm fine," Claire said, tugging her hat down to hide her face. How much more time did she have before the illusion wore off? "I should probably be getting home soon."

"But, Ma'am, you're—"

"M-my mom is a cleric," Claire lied. Then she turned around and high-tailed it back to Zach before anyone could ask more questions.

Everyone knew that alchemy was a dangerous thing to meddle with, including those who took it as a profession. As such, the laboratories where alchemists conducted their business were hidden underground, out of the range of prying eyes.

Holding the keys to his father's laboratory with white knuckles, Mohinder scanned the New York sidestreets for the entrance he'd been told about. While searching around, he did his best not to attract too much attention, especially after his encounter with the man in the True-Seeing glasses had left him so unnerved. In some kingdoms, not many people would have been out and about so late at night, but in New York there was no such luck. However, Mohinder was used to being surrounded by people who stayed up at all hours of the night. After all, many of the inhabitants of the Underdark were nocturnal.

Eventually, he found it—an unmarked door in a tight alleyway, the darkness of which put Mohinder on edge despite his Darkvision. Sure enough, the key fit perfectly into the keyhole. Ears perking up, Mohinder glanced back and forth to assure he wasn't being followed and slipped through the door.

The first thing past the door was a long, steep staircase with a once-elegantly-carved railing which was now rotten in several places and cracked in others. Mohinder's ears were pressed flat against his head as he descended, keeping one hand on the ancient railing and the other on the wall on his opposite side. Occasionally he felt something slither over his hand and he suppressed a shudder, keeping his eyes fixed ahead of him.

Just when it was starting to feel like the staircase would never end, it stopped abruptly with a final step steeper than the rest; Mohinder stumbled and caught himself against a doorknob that he hadn't realized was there until his hands wrapped around it.

The doorknob was coated in rust, and the door it belonged to was unmarked just like the entryway into the staircase, but Mohinder knew he'd found the place. Past the door, an empty hallway extended for as far as he could see, which was a good deal farther than some. He had no idea where it could have led to. Tearing his gaze away from the hallway, Mohinder put the same key in the lock and turned it. He pushed on the door and…

It didn't budge. Confused, Mohinder jiggled the doorknob, wondering if the door was rusted shut. No—it sounded like it was locked—which meant he'd just locked the door when he meant to unlock it. But that meant it had already been open before he came down here.

"I cast Detect Magic," he whispered—most likely a mistake, as a moment later he was positively overwhelmed by magic energy to the point that his head hurt. Wincing, Mohinder cleared his throat and turned the key again. "H-hello?" he called.

There was no response. Mohinder opened the door a crack and peered through it to see a small cavern covered in cobwebs. It didn't look like anyone was there. Gulping, he stepped inside and took a look around.

From the inside, he could see that the cavern wasn't quite as empty as it had looked. Shelves filled with vials lined the walls, and in the centre of the room there was a table strewn with spellbooks and magic items. Mohinder's shoulders drooped with relief when he realized that these items must have been the source of all that magic activity he'd sensed. It was good to know that it wasn't coming from a person with malicious intent. There was a small dragon curled up asleep in the corner; when Mohinder walked by, it raised its head and blinked its big yellow eyes at him.

On the far wall of the cavern, there were scraps of parchment hung up among the cobwebs; the silky strand connected pieces which looked related to each other. All of them dealt with things that Mohinder's father had spoken of at great length: spellcasters who specialized in evocation suddenly being able to use transmutation, elves with the strength of an orc, healers who became necromancers, and so on. Despite his disbelief in his father's research, Mohinder couldn't help but get drawn in to the literal web of secrets that his father had assembled. In fact, he was so wrapped up in the strange recounts and images that he didn't notice the sound of footsteps coming down the empty hallway.

"Oh!"

Mohinder froze at the sound of the shrill voice coming from behind him, ears standing straight upright. Hand reaching for the dagger he kept in the pocket of his labcoat, he turned around to see a startled-looking Lizardfolk woman carrying a small glass container full of insects.

"Um, I'm sorry if I scared you," the Lizardfolk said, taking a step back and setting the box of bugs down on the table. The dragon chirped and hopped up onto the table, sniffing at the box. "I'm supposed to feed this little guy," she explained as she opened the box; the dragon wasted no time in sticking its head inside and snapping up the insects inside. "Doctor Suresh—he's the guy who owned this lab—asked me to look after it now that he's gone."

"Oh, I know all about Doctor Suresh," Mohinder said. "He was my father."

The woman's forked tongue curled up between her fangs and she let out a quiet hiss. "Oh, I'm so sorry," she murmured. "Were you two close? I'm Eden, by the way," she added, pausing to pick the dragon up and let it crawl over her arm. It sniffed curiously at Mohinder, a tiny puff of smoke curling up from its muzzle.

Mohinder gave the dragon a little stroke on the head. He figured his scent must have reminded it of his father. "We could have been closer," he said.

"Hmm." Tilting her head, Eden taped her claws on the table. "Do you know what type of dragon this is, anyway? I've never been sure—it's so small."

"It's most likely a pseudodragon," he said. "Unlike what the name suggests, they're still classified as dragons, but they can't speak Draconic. They can understand it, though."

Eden smiled, eyes glinting in the dim light. Her own reptilian features looked at place next to the dragon's. "Pretending to be something you're not, hmm?" she hissed, tilting her head slightly to the side. "That's an interesting strategy."

Niki was sure she'd only blacked out for a second, but when she regained consciousness, something was clearly wrong. She was still in the dungeon where her party had just been adventuring, lying on her side on the cold, bumpy floor. She was breathing heavily, and her face felt warm, like she'd just done some strenuous exercise. As she caught her breath, a drop of something warm and wet dripped onto her cheek. When she raised her hand to wipe it off, she realized with a jolt of horror that her hand was covered in blood.

That was when she saw her teammates.

The drop that had fallen on her cheek was the blood of the party's ranger, who was impaled on a stalactite almost fifteen feet up. Their cleric was sprawled on the ground below the stalactite in question, lying face down with his head between the blood-soaked pages of his bible. Their druid, who had been the quiet one in the group, was splayed out in a revolting tangle of limbs, and the sorcerer who'd led the group had their fighter's battleaxe sticking out of his head.

The fighter in question was the one Niki's gaze fell on last. He was covered in lacerations and surrounded by shattered glass; a broken-off piece of the mirror's metal frame was jabbed inside his neck. A faint trail of mist curled upwards from the utterly destroyed mirror, wafting through the chamber and gathering around where Niki lay, stunned, in the centre of the bloodbath.

Sitting up, Niki stared at her mangled teammates, then back at her bloody hands. Had the mirror done this—or rather, whatever had been possessing the mirror? Then why was she the only one unharmed? Oh, gods, had _she_ done this?

Bile rose in Niki's throat and her head spun as she slowly and shakily got to her feet. She didn't want to look at the bloodbath that surrounded her, but she couldn't tear her eyes away. It was so horrifically mesmerizing that it was impossible not to look at. How could she have done such a thing? She was an orc, sure, but not a fighter. The physical power she possessed wasn't trained enough for her to lay waste to an entire adventuring party like that, and clearly none of these people had been killed with the skills of a rogue. So what had happened here?!

" _Niki…_ " The mist swirled around her, sending a chill down her spine when it brushed against her arm. " _Well, Niki? Aren't you going to thank me?_ "

Niki took a step backward, bumping up against the wall of the dungeon. Even though she knew it would be ineffective against an evil spirit, she found herself reaching out of habit for the dagger she kept in her back pocket. Her hand came away empty, and she located the dagger a moment later lodged in the back of one of her party members.

"You're the one who did this," she breathed, tightening her hands into fists. "What are you?"

The apparition laughed, and the mist began to retreat to hover over the broken mirror. As the laughter continued, it began to form a vaguely humanoid shape. " _Oh, Niki, don't you recognize me?_ " The shape became better-defined until it was identifiable as the figure of an orc woman with a slender build for her species and long blonde hair that hung loose around her bare shoulders.

Just like the voice, it was very similar to Niki—too similar. For a moment, Niki was taken back to her childhood, when she and her sister had spent the night in a dungeon very similar to this one and stumbled across a very similar mirror. It had been the last night they'd spent as a duo.

"I—I don't understand," Niki said. "Am I you?"

Her double smiled and, without saying another word, raised a finger to its lips.

The rest of Claire's walk home was taken up with brushing soot and ash off of herself. Once the Bennet household came into view on the horizon, she and Zach split off. The sun was dipping low in the sky—lower than it usually was by the time Claire got home—and even though she wouldn't be coming home looking like a floating skeleton in a robe her parents would still no doubt be worried.

Before Claire could set foot inside the cozy hut that she and her family called home, she was met with a wild barking and snarling, as was per usual in the Bennet household. A moment later the source of the barking rounded the corner into the living room and jumped up, its massive claws putting a dent in the doorframe. A cry of "Oh, stop it, you!" could be heard coming from the kitchen.

"I'm home!" Claire called as she stepped inside, even though she was sure her presence had already been alerted. "Hi, Mr. Muggles," she added, prompting a happy bark from the Direwolf.

"Hi, sweetie!" her mother, Sandra, greeted her as she shrugged off her schoolbag. "You're home late—what happened?"

Claire bit back a laugh. What was she supposed to say to that? _Sorry, Mom, Zach and I got into a fight with some gerblins and one of them killed me and now I'm a lich_? That wouldn't go over well. She'd probably be banned for life from venturing out of the house—never mind her aspirations of becoming an adventurer one day. No, truth was out of the question. As far as her family would ever know, it had just been an ordinary day.

Concerned about how much time was left on the Hat of Disguise, Claire tried to sneak off into somewhere private, but Sandra kept her put by asking Claire more questions about her day. "Where did you get that hat, anyway?" she asked. "It looks like it's burnt around the brim; did you find it like that?"

"Oh, this old thing?" Claire gave a nervous laugh. "Yeah, I got it from a trader in exchange for a few feet of rope. How does it look?"

"It looks fine, dear," said Sandra. "But why don't you take it off?"

"Um, I don't know if that would be a good idea…"

"Well, whyever not?"

Luckily, Claire was saved from having to come up with an answer, because it was then that the telltale sound of a trotting horse passed by outside, prompting a new bout of barking from Mr. Muggles. Claire looked out the window to see her father disembarking a wagon, his sack of wares in hand, and she instantly broke into a grin. It had been a while since he'd been within the walls of the kingdom, let alone in their village—Noah travelled a lot despite not being part of any adventuring parties, which was odd for a simple merchant like him, so it was always nice when he was actually around.

Claire rushed to greet him when he strode through the door, wrapping her arms around his waist (it was as far up as she could reach). "Hey, Dad," she said, ignoring the fact he seemed to flinch when she hugged him. Maybe he hadn't been expecting such an enthusiastic greeting. "How was your trip to New York?"

"…It's a fine kingdom," Noah said after a moment of uncertain silence. "The business there is good, but they value bards more than merchants in those parts."

Pulling away, he glanced down at Claire over the rims of his glasses and hummed in thought. A chill went down Claire's spine at the way his glasses flashed in the dim evening light (they'd have to light the torches outside their house soon; the sun was going down earlier lately as the winter season approached). He couldn't see through the illusion, could he? Much like Claire and her younger brother Lyle, Noah wasn't a magic-user; he shouldn't have been able to see through the spell. (Sandra was a druid, but she didn't throw around spells very often anymore either, and hadn't been on a proper quest in years.) So why was her father looking at her as if he saw something unusual about her?

After that, Claire shut herself up in her bedchambers and waited for the illusion to wear off. She had no idea what she'd do once her lich form became visible to her family. Gods, why had she become a lich to begin with?! She still didn't understand it. Perhaps her biological parents had been liches? But necromancy wasn't hereditary, was it?

Several minutes passed, and then several more, until it had surely been well over an hour since Claire had found the Hat of Disguise. Puzzled, she took the hat off and saw no change in her appearance. However, she realized with a creeping sense of amazement, she did feel something different (or rather, refreshingly _normal_ ) about her body—that being that she actually had one. The illusion hadn't dropped because there was no illusion to drop anymore.

Somehow, through some sort of magic that Claire couldn't begin to comprehend, she was back in her body, even though the last time she'd been in that body it'd had a dagger jabbed into its head.

The old clock in the middle of the decrepit old village kept ticking, signaling each passing second since the village's destruction. The dragon responsible for this must have still been lurking around somewhere in these charred ruins, since the last team that had been sent out claimed to have damaged its wings too badly for it to fly away. If it wasn't, then he'd come all this way for nothing… Hiro wished he could ask Ando to cast Detect Magic, but the tiefling wizard wasn't there with him at the moment. This would be Hiro's first solo quest—and hopefully not his last.

A low growl rumbled through the ruined village, and Hiro thought he heard footsteps coming from inside the charred exoskeleton of a large stone building. Ears perking up, he followed the source of the sound, keeping his shield up and a hand on the hilt of his sword. There was a snort, and a giant scaled beast poked its head out above the buildings' walls, nostrils flaring. Letting out the most intimidating battle cry he could muster, Hiro drew his sword and charged for the dragon with his shield at the ready to guard against its inevitable retaliation.

The dragon growled at the sight of Hiro approaching and reared up on its back legs, towering even further over Hiro than before. From his already lower-than-average vantage point, it looked absolutely leviathan. Hiro's bravery faltered a bit, and his charge came to a stop pretty quickly as he gazed up at the gigantic beast looming above him. The dragon opened its jaws and let out a roar, sending plumes of smoke into the air. Reminding himself that the dragon would hurt more people if he didn't bring it down, Hiro swallowed hard and resumed his charge until he was standing directly below the dragon. Running through a hole that had been ripped in the wall of the building, he jumped up and swung his sword at the dragon's leg as hard as he could.

The sword bounced off with a dinky clang, sending Hiro skidding backward. Snarling, the dragon turned its head down to look at Hiro, who took a couple steps backward until his back was pressed up against the wall. "I-I've come to slay you," he told the dragon, trying to sound a lot surer of himself than he was. "Prepare to meet your end, dragon!"

The dragon looked entirely unimpressed by Hiro's threat. Settling back down on all fours, it took a swipe at Hiro with its front claws. He yelped, rolling to the side to avoid the attack;the dragon grunted in annoyance and prepared to strike at him again. Getting to his feet and running under the dragon's raised front leg, Hiro tried to slash at its exposed stomach, but his sword barely even made contact before the dragon brought its leg down again, knocking Hiro backwards several feet. Before he could even get up again, the dragon leaned down and snapped at him, its fangs grazing the top of Hiro's head. He took the opportunity to get in one good hit to the neck, but the dragon retaliated with a burst of flame that Hiro was barely able to raise his shield in time to block. The energy from the blast still ended up pushing him back a little, so that his back was up against the wall of the destroyed building.

Hiro scrambled to his feet and barely dodged another fire blast that left the tips of his hair singed. If the dragon hadn't had the upper hand before—which it clearly had—then it definitely did now. It must have known this as well, because it pulled its lips back into what looked like a sneer as it reared up and brought its powerful front legs down on what remained of the front wall of the building, trapping Hiro between two of its claws. Gripping his sword with white knuckles, Hiro lodged the weapon between two of the dragon's talons and twisted it around. The dragon growled in pain and outrage, and it retracted its foreleg with the sword still stuck in it; Hiro let go of the sword so as not to get pulled into the air along with it.

Now the dragon was truly fed up. Yanking the sword out with its teeth, it tossed the weapon aside and, before Hiro could so much as move to grab his blade, whipped its tail around to whack him upside the head with it. Hiro was thrown backward, and he landed on his back just outside the building, stunned.

While Hiro was prone, the dragon reared up and breathed fire at him again, and this time Hiro was too slow when it came to blocking or dodging. A searing burst of flame rushed at him too fast for him to do anything, and before he could even get to his feet the fire was upon him. As the unbearable heat closed around him, Hiro squeezed his eyes shut and wished he was anywhere but there.

And then he was.

At first, Hiro waited a couple more seconds for the fire to burn him up, but after a moment he realized it wasn't going to. Confused, he blinked open his eyes and looked around to find that he was no longer in a demolished village. Rather, as he stood up and glanced around in awe, he found that he was in a large town—a capital city of a far-off kingdom, New York. He recognized it from tales, but he'd never been anywhere near here before—how could he have? It was on the other side of the world. And yet, here he was…

Hiro was stunned for several long moments. Then he broke into a grin. He'd always dreamed of going to this city, and now here he was, standing in the middle of the town square, where hundreds of merchants and bards advertised their businesses on brightly coloured pieces of parchment hung up on trees dotting the clearing.

"I did it!" he cried, tossing his head back and throwing his arms in the air. " _I did it_! Hello, New York!"

Their backs up against the rock wall, the Petrelli brothers exchanged a glance as the Bugbear closed the distance between it and them. They'd have to think fast on this one, or at least buy themselves some time. They'd grabbed most of their gear, but a good portion of their supplies were still back in the Bugbear's cave, including the item they were supposed to transport. They'd have to either defeat the Bugbear so that they could safely go back for the item later or…

 _Wait_ ¸ Peter thought with a pang of optimism, _Nathan specializes in enchantment magic! Maybe he can enchant the Bugbear and get it to leave us alone!_ With any luck, they could even persuade it to give them their item back. It could be a completely conflict-free solution, which was always how Peter preferred to settle things.

Nathan must have had the same thought about using his enchantment, because he turned around, raised his wand, and said " _ **Flee**_ " in a forceful voice that reverberated with magic. For a moment the Bugbear stopped, suddenly seeming apprehensive. It was in their nature to run away when they were outnumbered, and Nathan's Command spell should by all accounts have been more than enough to convince their pursuer to turn tail and run. And it probably would have been… if it had been successful. Clearly, the spell failed, because the Bugbear snarled "No!" and reared up on its hind legs to swipe at them.

"Welp, guess we need another plan," Nathan muttered. "You said you'd been dreaming about flying recently, right?"

"Yeah, but what's that got to do with—" Peter began. Before he could finish the thought, his brother grabbed him and jumped off the cliff, casting Featherfall on them on their way down.

It wasn't exactly the flying experience Peter had been dreaming about, but it was exhilarating in its own right to free-fall in such a manner, even if their falling was slowed by Nathan's spell. Peter liked the feeling of the wind rushing up around him, and now more than ever he wanted to learn to cast spells that would allow him to do this himself.

He'd have to think about multiclassing when he had the time, though, and this was not one of those times—they had several other problems on their hands at the moment. For one thing, the run-in with the Bugbear had probably cost them at least a day's journey since they'd need to make their way back up the distance they'd fallen, and they only had packed the supplies for a week. Plus, it was still a long way down the cliffside, and Featherfall only lasted for a minute. They had to find a ledge to set down on first and then think about the climb back up, but there weren't many good ledges or even passable handholds on the cliffside.

And as for the third and most immediate concern, the brothers were losing their grips on each other.

Already Peter could feel the effects of the spell wearing off—their descent was accelerating, albeit at a moderate rate, but it was still very noticeable. Nathan clutched at him as tightly as he could, but there was a reason they were both spellcasters rather than fighters. Neither of them could hold on to the other for much longer, and if they didn't find a spot to set down soon—

Ears perking up in alarm as he slipped out of his brother's grasp, Peter clutched at thin air. Oh, gods, didn't he have some sort of spell for this? He must have had something, right? It dawned on him as he dropped like a rock that his bible was still clutched tightly in his right hand—the way he harnessed the magic of his deity. Now all he could do was close his eyes and pray to that deity that somehow, something would break his fall.

That was the last thought Peter remembered having before he blacked out.


End file.
